


Everything You Love (Will Burn Up In The Light)

by cyanure



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: AU, Angst, Backstory, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Inception Reverse Big Bang Challenge 2016, M/M, Pickpockets, Street Rats, oh the angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 08:58:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8572258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanure/pseuds/cyanure
Summary: When theres nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire.Arthur is a banked flame just waiting to explode. Eames is the spark that ignites him.





	1. Arthur - Fury Under The Hood

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the Inception Reverse Bang '16 written for [Nyooomu's](http://nyooomu.tumblr.com/) lovely [art](http://imgur.com/oVKTRCk)!  
> This had been a wild ride, between my laptop dying and taking with it the first version of it because I forgot to do a back up, and my inability to write in proper English.  
> It was supposed to be really different from what it ended up actually being, but well.  
> Special thanks to [Sophie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinRedR/pseuds/RobinRedR) for holding my hand through the phase where I couldn't figure out the plot and to my dear beta and friend [Mousie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse) for shredding this apart and doing massive work on it to make it logical. (Because it was quite confusing at first.) (And not killing me for not using enough commas!)

The first time they met, it took all of Arthur’s self-control not to bash Eames’ stupid face into the nearby wall.

The second time they met, Arthur had a designer bag in his hands and was in the middle of running away from a very angry man. Eames later claimed it was just an accident that Arthur tripped and fell, but Arthur knew better. By the time he managed to get up again, Eames was nowhere to be found--and so was the designer bag Arthur had just stolen. He cursed and swore revenge.

The third time, Arthur got his revenge, bumping into Eames and skillfully stealing the object Eames was carrying so carefully under his coat. He laughed as he turned the corner and heard Eames curse. Payback's a bitch.

The fifth time, Arthur was running from a shop owner who was way too attached to the cheap cigarettes he sold. He collided head-on with Eames as he rounded a corner. Eames' fist connected with Arthur's jaw, Arthur's knee collided with Eames' nuts, and they both fell ungracefully to the ground. Arthur had enough time to take in the policeman running towards them, pointing angrily at Eames, and Eames' usual, crooked smirk before Eames pulled Arthur to his feet with a nod and ran off.

The tenth time they met, Arthur was tailing two tourists with beautiful, expensive, open purses. Even from a distance, Arthur could see the valuables inside, just waiting for him to take them, and he was already thinking about how nice it would be to finally be able to eat tonight.

When he registered the sudden presence at his side, he immediately knew who it was.

“I saw them first,” he mumbled quietly to warn Eames off.

“You’re going to rob both of them? Cheeky.”

It was the first time Arthur heard his voice and noted the heavy British accent in the words.

“Only the one with the Chanel bag.”

“Brilliant!” Eames exclaimed. “I’ll take care of our friend in Prada, then!”

Arthur waved a hand vaguely in response. It was the first time they had worked together. They approached the women, one on each side. Arthur let his hand settle on the clasp of the bag's shoulder strap, swiflty opening it and taking the purse's weight. He bumped into the woman and apologized to her, smiling warmly as he slid the bag away. She nodded and turned to resume to her conversation with her friend. Arthur and Eames were already turning into an alley when they heard the women's screams about a thief. Arthur glanced over at his recent partner in crime and was surprised to find him looking back, smirking. As they started to laugh, Eames slid an arm around Arthur's shoulders.

“Bloody hell, you’re more skilled at this than I give you credit for!” he said between laughs.

Arthur rose an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“What?” Eames said in response to Arthur’s expression. “Not even a thank you?”

“I’m not going to thank you for mildly insulting me,” Arthur shot back, freeing himself from Eames’ arm.

He turned into a different street, glancing back at Eames mischievously, a hint of malice behind his eyes as he knew it often was.

“Goodbye, Mr. Lupin.” Arthur said lightly before disappearing into the shadows.

It took Eames a moment to come to his sense, and Arthur heard his shouted response deeper in the street. “I can’t wait to see you again, darling.”

Arthur and Eames kept running into each other, pickpocketing each other just to prove a point, throwing barbed insults at each other, and sometimes, rarely, working together. And despite Arthur’s irritation, they were good together. Perhaps a little too good.

When Arthur had ended up in the streets, he had found out how scarily skilled he was at stealing, at shoplifting and breaking into houses, but he preferred pickpocketing the most. It was more of a challenge, to be so utterly discreet no one could tell you were the one stealing from them.To be quick, sharp, and precise, just like Arthur himself was. But Eames went against everything Arthur had learned. Eames was laid back, too relaxed to plan shit when he stole from people. He would just simply dip two nimble fingers into a pocket and lift a wallet, or a watch. Or both. And it made Arthur so, insanely angry that it was so easy for him.

Arthur  never actively sought Eames’ presence, but there always seemed to be another encounter, sometimes with the police involved. Arthur had more important things to deal with than an irritating boy who pickpocketed him the first time they saw each other, namely surviving the night and eating. Arthur was secured by the money he has taken from some unknowing man but the former was never ever insured by anything. He could as well wake up to the press of a blade against his throat again and be dead before sun rise. That knowledge made him despise living in the streets. He hadn’t slept through the night in months. And with the winter coming down hard with piercing winds and snow, he knew it was going to be a bad time for him. So Arthur didn’t have any goddamn time to waste on some idiot who surely pickpocketed as a hobby before going home to his rich family. Eames was getting in Arthur’s way every chance he had, and every time he saw a flash of crooked teeth or heard yet another irritating pet name, Arthur’s nerves got a little more frayed.

And so, of course, when Arthur hit rock bottom, stuck on a bench, penniless, as the temperatures dropped below freezing, Eames found him. Eames found him and pulled him away from the cold that was settling in his bones and numbing his limbs.

Eames brought him to a shady part of the city, where the buildings were falling apart and sketchy people hung around, whispering to each other and looking strangely at Eames and Arthur. Eames ignored them and gently nudged Arthur through a broken door and up a flight of stairs that looked ready to collapse on a moment's notice. At the top of the stairs was another door, without a lock. Eames pushed it open.

It was a simple room. Arthur saw something that looked like a basic kitchen in the corner. The broken windows were patched with brown tape and newspapers that did nothing to stop the cold from finding its way inside. The few pieces of mismatching furniture that were there created an unsettling art deco pot-pourri. A bed without bedsprings, a wornout couch, a shelf, a chair, a table almost collapsing under dirty dishes, dirty clothes and dirty magazines.

Arthur rose an eyebrow at the magazines and shrugged.

At least he was warm and not dying of hypothermia outside anymore.  
They never talked about the fact that Eames brought Arthur back to his home, and Arthur never talked about how [damn] grateful he had been when Eames had found him that night.

And somehow, Arthur settled into a new life, where he and Eames pickpocketed people together, and Arthur's biggest grief at the end of the day was that Eames never did the dishes. (He said the tap was broken, but Arthur knew it was just stuck.) and that they woke each other up with sleepy slaps and unconscious kicks.

+

Arthur learned a lot about Eames as the months passed. Eames was so posh it hurt, sometimes, and when they fought, it came out in full force. He also forged documents for whoever wanted to pay him, and he played poker with people Arthur purposefully tried to avoid. And even though Eames cheated at every game, and even though he had seen what happened to men who were caught cheating, he continued to play with these people, seemingly without a care in the world.

Another thing Arthur learned was that he was horribly, stupidly in love with Eames, and there was nothing he could do about it. Yes, Eames was a dick, but he could be funny, too, and he cared for Arthur and always made sure he was alright. (When Arthur noticed that Eames kept giving him more than his share of food, he almost punched him for it.).

And there was so much more, like the sleepless nights to the soft touches and gentle hands. And Arthur was so sure, so painfully hopeful, that Eames felt the same, but he refused to say it, risk it. Speaking those three words would make everything too real, might slap him back into reality on the cold, hard ground. So he said nothing, and the days passed.

Then, one evening, Eames took Arthur with him to a poker game. He had talked Arthur into it saying that Arthur was his "lucky charm, good things happen when you're with me darling." And Arthur's heart had leapt and he had agreed to go.

But now that he was here, with men smoking large cigars, swinging classes of whisky, talking in hushed whispers, and exchanging handfuls of bills, Arthur realized he was out of his element. Arthur felt as if he was being watched but no one seemed to pay him mind. Eames was shaking hands, giving accolades, whispering his own hushed words, slipping his own bills into people's hands while making his way to a door at the very back guarded by a man twice Arthur's size who only gave Eames a short nod before opening the door for him.

Eames was like a fish in water, but Arthur knew him well enough to recognize when he was playing a role. The smiles he gave Arthur were always genuine and bright; his jaw never twitched. He was always comfortable with him, as he liked to remind Arthur so often.

And considering the way he was behaving in this instant, Arthur knew which role Eames was taking on: the thief, charming yet dangerous.

When Arthur and Eames walked through the door, the poker game paused, and each player greeted Eames in his own way, with a nod, a handshake or a verbal acknowledgement. They only seemed to notice Arthur afterwards, when an old man, Maurice Fischer asked Eames who this young dashing fellow was.

"This is Arthur, a friend and colleague in my line of work," Eames replied without missing a beat. Soon enough they were both sitting at the table with their own cards and the game resumed.

Eames won some and lost some, his pile of chips growing and declining equally. Arthur knew he was doing it to hide the fact that he was cheating, _but_ ...

All the players had tells. Arthur noted them after a few hands. One man would touch his card with his left hand before placing them on the table, another man's nose would scrunch up during a second. It took a bit longer for Arthur to figure out Maurice's. Fischer would always glance furtively at Eames when he had a good hand. But Eames offered no clue on whatever hand he had, and he had no tell, even to Arthur, who was good at reading Eames after all these months.

The only thing that could betray him was his hand on Arthur's thigh, squeezing a little tighter whenever his hand was incredibly good. And Arthur would discover new talents he hadn't suspected to hid his blush.

Arthur himself didn't win much, but he didn't lose much either. He busied himself into drinking the alcohol that was brought to him, burning his throat, letting Eames play as if he wasn't there. From time to time, he'd check Eames' hand to riase the stakes, but when he did it again, he saw Eames could have had a very good hand if not for the seven of spades ruining his royal flush.

Arthur shrugged and folded but when he looked at Eames' again, a jack had taken the seven's place. Arthur carefully schooled his face to avoid bringing attention to Eames' cheating. A minute later, all but Maurice and Eames had folded and after Maurice showed his hand, Eames spread his royal flush on the velvety table with a drag of his cigarette.

Eames smirked and was about to grab the chips from the center of the table when Maurice gestured with his hand. A man appeared out of the shadows and politely asked Arthur and Eames to come with him.

Eames pleasantly agreed and said his goodbyes as if it were no big deal. But Arthur knew. No cheaters tolerated. They'd at best get their asses handed back to themselves.

"Goodbye, Eames," Maurice said neutrally as they walked out the door.

Everything happened in the blink of an eye afterwards.

The man's hand, covered in cheap leather, connected with Arthur's jaw with a crunch. As Arthur got back on his knees, wiping blood from his nose, the man pulled a gun from his waistband and aimed it at him. Eames tackled him, punching the man violently in the ribs. As they exchanged blows, the man's gun fell on the ground, forgotten.

For a moment, Arthur thought that Eames had the upper hand, but then the man pinned him against the wall, his hands crushing Eames' windpipe.

Eames kicked out desperately, his hands wrapped around the man's wrists, but the man's grip was like iron.

Arthur shook his head violently, struggling to clear it, and his eyes fell on the gun by his feet.

The jumbled mess in his head was silenced when he heard Eames call his name, breathlessly, desperately.

When there's nothing left to bun, you have to set yourself on fire.

Arthur knew it, knew he was already a fire burning bright, itching to explode. If someone hurt Eames, Arthur would burn them to a crisp, even if it meant he would turn to ashes himself.

Eames gasped his name, and Arthur didn't have to think twice. He picked up the gun and aimed. His finger tightened on the trigger and--

Two shots ring out in the empty alley. It was raining that day.


	2. Eames - The Devil In You I Suppose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When theres nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire._  
>  Arthur is a banked flame just waiting to explode. Eames is the spark that ignites him.

Two years later, Eames comes into possession of a PASIV.

And this is all thanks to Yusuf. Eames owns him one, a big one, for getting him on this lead that revealed itself to be fruitful and not abandoning him during the process of getting their hands on it.

Yusuf is a drug dealer, that is where he gets all his connections from and alright, on the first thought, it wouldn't be that strange that they became friends, but their bond runs deeper than that; they're not just two crooks.

Yusuf had also been involved in rigged games of poker at some point and only narrowly escaped the man in leather gloves coming for him and his cheating ass (as Eames would say) and, obviously, he was now trying to find a way to get back to Maurice Fischer for that. Nothing like a cheated cheater's scorn, apparently.

That's where Eames comes into play.

One of Yusuf's clients is a rich kid with family issues who would never miss an opportunity to talk Yusuf's ear off about whatever is going on in his sad, spoiled life. At some point though, the kid, Robert Fischer, (who is as much of a kid as Eames, Arthur and Yusuf are) starts to babble about some military device that sounds like it’s come right out of an over-the-top sci-fi movie, just like Eames likes them.

The device, Robert excitedly explains to Yusuf, can make any of your dreams come true. It's almost magical! Yusuf mumbles something non-committal, trying to get Robert off his case, but the kid’s next words capture Yusuf's attention. "My uncle, Peter, is keeping it safe in the military base, until my dad needs it. You should see it, Yu-" But Yusuf focuses only on the connection he had eventually made, that This Robert Fischer is indeed the son of THAT Fischer who had once cheated him. And A Plan starts to form in his head.

When Yusuf mentions it to Eames over a whiskey on the rocks, they exchange a knowing look. It's pure chance that Robert is related to the man who had cheated Yusuf and almost had Arthur and Eames  
killed in a bad film noir setting, but it is a lucky coincidence, because he is providing an outlet for Yusuf's desire for revenge and Eames' yearning for catharsis.

So they start to work on their plan to get their hands on the precious odd machine apparently called a PASIV.

According to Robert, Maurice Fischer is the one legally owning it (even though none of it seems legal), Browning is just watching it in a base located a few states over, near Boston. Robert is the key that will unlock their path to the PASIV.

The plan is finalized in less than two months and passes every crashtest. They're ready to go.

+

"Hey, Eames?" Arthur called from his spot on the window ledge, looking through the worn out and fractured glass towards the city beyond it, tiny dots of light in the distance.

"Yeah?" he said without looking up from his papers, his tea cooling on the corner of the tacky table.

"Do you remember when you told me you loved me?" Arthur asked, his gaze fixed on the city outside.

Eames put down his pen and set his eyes on Arthur's shadowy figure, appearing like a cut-out version of himself, surrounded by the fleeting lights behind him.

Of course he remembered. It was almost painful to think about it. Arthur had said nothing back. Eames had hoped he hadn't misread Arthur's behaviour-- and he was nearly convinced he hadn't-- but the lack of response from Arthur had set him on the edge.

Arthur had simply walked away without a word or a look, slowly fading in the rain and smog of the city.

"Yeah, I remember. Why?" He only replied, heartbreak on the tip of his tongue.

"Good."

"Why?" Eames asked, a bit at loss.

Arthur didn't move, didn't look at him. It was as if he were talking to himself, and Eames wasn't there at all, barely a few meters away from him. In that instant, Arthur seemed to be in another plane of existence.

"I love you too."

+

After the shooting, Eames had realized something.

Arthur was everything to him. He was everything before, but Eames had lied to himself, had ignored Arthur's obvious love for him, in the way that he smiled with that softness in his eyes, in the way he called Eames an idiot with that fond tone. Eames had always been able to see through Arthur's wall of sarcasm and irony.

But after Eames told Arthur, something had changed between them, and they could see each other, truly, for the first time. Arthur is his everything, from his soft, dark curls to his sharp wit to his pale skin adorned with beauty marks.

+

Stealing the PASIV is easier than they planned and soon enough they're together in the getaway car, driving furiously on the highway, away from the facility. They still have a few minutes before the alarm is given and the staff starts to search for them.

Yusuf drives as recklessly as he does everything else, and Eames has to hang on tightly as he’s thrown against the passenger door. He thinks it is completely possible he could be thrown out of the car altogether. In their haste, they hardly stopped to lock the doors.

After a few minutes, they look at each other and can't repress a nervous, relieved laughter as they realize they managed to pull this job off somehow.

Eames runs a hand over the silver case holding the PASIV. There's a lock on it, but he is not worried about it. The hard part is behind them, and a simple lock will not stop Eames in his quest for dreams and the world they offer.

Yusuf has had his revenge now--he just stole from the man who wronged him. No doubt about it, if Maurice Fischer finds out he was behind this there will be consequences, especially considering the fact his own son quite took part in it. But Eames can't bring himself to care in this instant.

Just as Eames doesn't care about openly breaking the law to reach out and grab his key to freedom.

Key to freedom indeed. Yusuf has told him everything he knows about dreamshare, even though it isn't much, Eames can already see himself in this business; it's just another way to pickpocket, isn't it? But instead of robbing their bags, he'll be robbing their minds.

Arthur will be thrilled to see him in dreams, he is sure.

Eames thinks for a brief, fleeting moment that he has to be insane to be messing with the military, but if the money is as good as Yusuf said it is, it will guarantee a comfortable future for them all. And Eames would do it all for Arthur.

Eames would kill for him, die for him, do anything. Because Arthur has done it for him.

+

"Arthur?" Eames called out from their bed, still tangled up in the sheets.

Arthur hummed in acknowledgement as he leaned against the window frame, wearing one of Eames' shirt.

"What's your family name?" Eames asked.

Arthur chuckled. "This is your idea of pillow talk?"

"First, you're not in the bed, so it's not pillow talk," Eames started, amused. "Second, this is still a valid question. You never told me."

"Neither have you." Arthur said, turning slightly to look at him.

"Fair enough. So what is it?" Eames wasn’t going to let Arthur off the hook just now. He wanted to know.

"DeMars," Arthur said softly, eyes captivated in the city’s early morning once again. "Like the shade of black."

"It's almost morbid, the way you say it."

Eames sat up in the bed, cooling rapidly without Arthur at his side. Arthur faced him with a mysterious smile on his reddened lips.

"It's just black."

"It's not just black," Eames opposed. "It's not completely black. Mars' Black is sometimes not even considered as a shade of black, did you know?"

"You say the most romantic things, Eames." Arthur laughed and sat on the edge of the threadbare bed, near Eames' legs. "But you're right, it's not just black. Maybe like the world?"

"It's almost profound, darling," Eames joked and caught Arthur in his arms, dragging him to lie down near him.

"You're such a ridiculous idiot," Arthur said, but he kissed him anyway.

The almost-not-black was just like their love. It was neither white nor black, it had its ups and downs, but it was love nonetheless, and that was all that mattered.

+

When they arrive back to Yusuf's place, Yusuf starts to mess around with the PASIV, trying to break the lock. It takes Eames barely two minutes to crack the code and they're rewarded with the sight of the tubes, lines, and needles composing the glistening PASIV, secured inside the chrome briefcase.

"Time for experimentation," Yusuf declares.

And this is exactly what they do.

It takes Yusuf several days to get a handle on the working mechanisms, a few more to understand how it works, and about six months to replicate Somnacin from the stolen recipe they found in the vault with the case when they stole it.

The first time they go under, Yusuf sets them up for 30 minutes. When they wake up, they agree that time passed way more slowly in a dream, and five minutes was a better amount of time for them to experiment in a dream without losing themselves.

The second time they share a dream, they discover that the dream can collapse on them, so they give each other parts to control in order to prevent it. They call it building. And the dream doesn't fall on their heads again.

The third time they go under, Yusuf finds out how violent and aggressive Eames' subconscious is, unlike his own. One of Eames’ projections stabs him to death, looking eerily like the boy whose photo Eames carries around in his wallet.

The fifth time they dream together, Yusuf feels there might be something off about Eames and his subconscious, because this time he was frozen to death in a blizzard, stuck in a broken shower. But when they wake up Eames looks utterly distressed and yells at Yusuf to “sling his hook!' before disappearing into one of the adjacent rooms.

The tenth time Yusuf sets them up for five minutes, they know what they're doing. The dream doesn't collapse, the projections don't catch up with them, there's no boy with hazel eyes to kill Yusuf, and the dream is stable.

When they wake up, they know they're ready for the world of dreamshare and whatever it might have in stock for them.

They learn a lot more afterwards: the different roles they can play, tricks to deceive the projections, and even the possibility of dreams within dreams.

Yusuf, as a former drug dealer, assumes with brio the role of Chemist, creating Somnacin derivatives that sometimes fail, but work most of the time. (Let's not talk about that time the chemicals made Eames hallucinate he was Captain Kirk at the hand of the Enterprise Ship.)

Eames is a thief, and a good one. A very good one. Nothing can hide from him and whatever he is looking for will come to him. Whenever Yusuf tests out some new tactics to extract information from each other, Eames always wins,with tactics that are more creative and outlandish every time.

They also learn that sometimes, in desperate situations, they have to shoot themselves out of the dream. The first time it happens, they don't touch the PASIV for days. But it eventually becomes a routine.

Every time Eames hears a gunshot, he is taken back to that wet dark alley where he almost died, Arthur's bloody hand in his--

He forces himself to stop thinking about it by then. There are more important things at hand, like getting to thing he’s been planning since he first heard about the wonders of the PASIV, the miraculous machine that can make everything come true the time of a dream. A dream that could last years, decades even if they go deep enough and with the right chemicals.

Perfect for what he has in mind. Just perfect.

+

"Why are you looking out the window like that, darling?" Eames asked one early morning of spring, coming to hug Arthur from behind as he stared out the window like he’d been doing every day lately.

Arthur didn't say anything at first, just letting his eyes sweep over the city, quiet and calm just like before a storm. Trees were blooming in specks of colours in the streets, the sky was a different shade of blue, and everything seemed a little gentler. The broken glass under Eames' fingertips still felt cold, but it would soon be warm enough that Arthur wouldn't shiver in his sleep.

Arthur inhaled sharply, breaking the silence that had only been disturbed by the beating of their hearts.

"If I look hard enough, I think I can see the sea," Arthur said simply.

"Arthur, you can't see the sea from here, we're miles and miles away from the coast, don't you know?"

"If I just look hard enough and for long enough, perhaps someday I'll see it." Arthur sighed. "I know I can't see it, but someday, I swear I can. I wish I could see it with my own two eyes."  
Eames smiled against Arthur's neck.

"Tell you what, when we have money, we will go to the ocean together."

Arthur put his hand over Eames' arms circling his neck.

"Promise?"

Eames turned Arthur's head gently toward his and laid a soft kiss there, his hand in Arthur's hair.

"Promise." Eames felt Arthur's warm breath on his skin, his luscious locks tickling his neck."I promise you, you'll see the sea someday. And when you will, I promise you we will be together too."  
Arthur shifted closer, his hands tangling with Eames'.

"I like that you said when and not if."

"It's a promise, isn't it?" Eames breathed against Arthur's cheek before kissing his smiling lips.

"It's going to rain today, I think," Arthur said against his mouth.

"It's alright, we just have to get out for the game tonight."

Eames kissed him again, holding Arthur's face between his hands, kissing him until there was no air left in neither of their lungs, kissing him as if it was the last time he was going to do it.

+

Eames is on his way.

He has borrowed Yusuf's car, there on the passenger seat is the PASIV, in his now-scratched briefcase. A little over a year has passed since they stole it. Almost three since Arthur and him got caught in the alley. But that's behind him now. The only thing that matters now is the present and Eames completing his task.

He doesn't drive like Yusuf did when they fled the military base. It wouldn't do to break a bone or the car before getting to his destination. It's just a few hours’ drive to the coast anyway, nothing too bad, nothing a good playlist can't fix.

He follows the signs, mentally readying himself for what he is going to eventually achieve, after putting it off for years. Perhaps he will be able to look at himself in the mirror again, after.

The music gives the ride its tempo, jumping from classical music, Arthur's all time favourite style, Eames' rock classic and some songs introduced him to over the years, in a strange mish-mash of emotions and memories.

He parks the car outside of a large park, filled with trees in full bloom, littering the ground with pale petals all the way to the cliff on the opposite end of the park.

Eames could let himself drown into nostalgia if he weren't so obsessed with completing his task. No time for second-rate emotion. He has something to finish first.

A promise to honour over three years later.

+

As soon as the blow landed on Arthur's face, Eames almost flung himself at the man in leather gloves, Victor, and started to punch him violently, anger blurring his vision.

Not only anger, but also fear. Fear of losing Arthur.

He doesn't hold back. He threw punch after punch, kick after kick, taking his fair share of blows without hesitation. He wouldn't mind a few bruises or broken bones if it meant protecting Arthur from harm. Eames would die for him without an ounce of regret, he loved him so deeply his own life didn't matter in the balance. Only Arthur's.

As they fought, they shifted away from where Arthur had fallen. Out of the corner of his eye, Eames could see him standing, slightly staggering from the force of Victor’s blow.

He also saw him pick up something on the floor but Victor punched Eames in the solar plexus, forcing his attention away from Arthur. Their rumble was brutal, unlike any fight Eames had ever gotten himself in. This one was bound to end with, and only with, someone’s death. And if Eames managed it, Victor was the one going to die and he'd be able to go back to Arthur.

But as usual, fate screwed them.

Amidst the crunch of bones and pouring blood, the metallic clack was faint but distinctive, and Eames and Victor both froze.

Over Victor's shoulder, Eames saw Arthur, Victor's gun in hand, aiming shakily.

Eames wanted to scream but it all spiraled out of control so quickly.

Victor let go of Eames and quickly drew a calibre 48 from his waistband, aiming it with the practised ease of a professional.

Arthur pulled the trigger a fraction of a second before Victor, and Victor's bullet, which had been aimed for Arthur's head, embedded itself in his chest instead.

Time slowed to a crawl.

Arthur fell to the ground, his hair wet with blood and rain, a dark stain spreading across his shirt. The gun fell from his hand into a nearby puddle.

Victor crumbled on top of him, clutching his bleeding stomach.

And suddenly everything snapped back to normal speed. Eames leaped into motion, carelessly pushing aside Victor’s dying body to reach Arthur.

Arthur who had just been shot in the chest to protect him. Arthur who was hurt because of him. Arthur who got harmed. Arthur. Arthur. _Arthur_.

Arthur, who was pale, too pale, as all of his blood seeped through the wound in his chest.

Eames gingerly cradled his limp body against his chest, listening to Arthur's thin, shallow breaths, blood and rain staining his clothes and skin.Arthur's head laid against Eames' chest, his hair plastered against his forehead, blood dripping from his nose and lips where Victor had punched him, skin paler than death. He was so beautiful. And he was going to die, in this ridiculous alley, all because of Eames. This was never what Eames had wanted.

All he wanted for Arthur was to be happy and loved.

Oh God, had he loved Arthur with all his heart and soul. He had.

But he had failed him.

"Arthur!" Eames called desperately.

Arthur opened his soft, tired, hazel eyes, faded as if they had suddenly aged fifty years and seen all the hurt in the world.

Eames held him closer. He couldn't--wouldn't--let him go that easily.

Arthur looked at him with those exhausted eyes, his hand falling onto Eames'.

"Eames..."

"I'm here, darling," Eames said hurriedly, afraid of what he knew was coming.

"I love you..." Arthur whispered, before trying to suppress a groan of pain. Eames saw tears prickling at the edge of his eyes. "But..."

"But, what?" Eames pressed, caressing Arthur upper arm in soothing motions, at a loss for anything else to do. Arthur was so cold, so distant. Eames didn't know what to do, how to stop it all. He was holding the body of the men he loved, listening to every rattling breath grow weaker and thinner.

"You said we would see the sea together," Arthur breathed, his eyes fluttering shut. "You promised, Eames. You promised..."

His breath rattled out of his lungs, and he didn’t inhale again.

And that was it.

Arthur had done it all for Eames.

Killed for him.

Died for him.

But Eames was the one trapped in this world without Arthur.

+

Eames crosses the park quickly until he reaches the grassy cliff. Under a large cherry tree, overlooking the calm, quiet sea, lies a single tombstone. Moss has already started to gather around the edges in the hollow of the letters carved in the white marble.

_Arthur DeMars_

Eames removes the moss with a flick of his finger and lays a hand on the gravestone.

The sea wind billows in his jacket. The PASIV's case dances in his hand. Three years ago, on this day, Arthur died for Eames.

And three years later, Eames is back, and he is going to do what he should have done sooner, much sooner, when Arthur was still alive.

He kneels near the grave and pulls the suitcase open, a soft smile on his lips, at peace with himself.

"I promise you we were going to see the ocean together," he whispers to the immaculate stone. "I know I'm three years late, darling, but I came." He inserts the needle in his wrist, his hands steady. "Because I didn't say 'if,' did I? I said 'when.' And I'm here with you now, darling."

He looks at the sea extending to the horizon, as serene as Arthur's eyes that rainy evening. Eames looks back down at the grave, and the PASIV, and smiles.

"Let's go see that ocean together, shall we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse.  
> I have a [tumblr](http://malfunctioningtotem.tumblr.com/) if you want to yell at me!


End file.
